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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725071">walk the wire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o'>Yuki1014o</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ASL Brothers, Alternate Marineford Events, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Portgas D. Ace Lives, Shirohige | Whitebeard | Edward Newgate Lives, Timeline What Timeline, asl focused plus garp, because I really couldn't help myself, don't know her, minor worldbuilding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:55:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>So they’re talking about the possibility that Whitebeard loses and Ace dies and Sabo <i>can’t</i>. There are locusts beneath his skin and a headache throbbing against his skull and a <i>tick-tick-tick</i> down his spine, a countdown, a warning, and he needs to <i>go</i>.</p><p>“I can carry a black bag operation in Marineford,” he blurts, off topic, and the room blows up with noise.</p><p>///Sabo needs his memories, Ace needs saving, and Garp needs to rethink his life choices.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Monkey D. Garp &amp; Portgas D. Ace, Monkey D. Garp &amp; Sabo, Monkey D. Luffy &amp; Portgas D. Ace &amp; Sabo, Portgas D. Ace &amp; Sabo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>861</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>walk the wire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Between the marine’s capture of Fire Fist Ace and Sabo’s hearing of it is only nine hours. A marine plant calls into Sabaody who calls into a series of intermediary islands who continue the chain until eventually the news is passed along to Baltigo’s communications room.</p><p>Koala comes barging into Sabo’s room somewhere between midnight and early morning—he can’t really tell. The arms of his clock are tick-tick-ticking but the symbols blur in his overtired vision. There are no birds to chirp early morning calls on Baltigo. He thinks he might’ve once measured time by the buzz of birds outside of wherever he used to sleep, but he can’t really remember, so.</p><p>Koala’s in that weird kind of state where she’s three moods at once. She’s frowning at him and looks like she’s going to fall over from exhaustion but she’s also vibrating in her skin and tapping the heel of her boot against the ivory stone with a kind of energy that means big news. She’s looking at him expectantly.</p><p>Sabo sighs. Stills his pen. Leans back and swings his chair to face her.</p><p>“Good or bad?”</p><p>Koala hums. “Good and good! We found Nico Robin! Haven't been able to contact her yet but we <i>found</i> her! And ah...” Sabo raises a brow. Koala shifts, leans forward like it’s a secret, conspiratorial grin wide on her lips, “The marines captured Fire Fist Ace! We just got word but—Sabo! Do you know what the means!? There’s going to be a war! Sabo, Sabo marine forces are going to be depleted <i>all over the place!</i> Think of the <i>opportunities!</i>”</p><p>And that’s—well. A...lot more than Sabo was expecting. That's a whole lot. Because people don’t just <i>capture</i> Whitebeard commanders—that’d be asking for a war, marines kill them and maim them but marines don’t <i>capture</i> them.</p><p>“They what?” He asks, and then, less of a question and more of an incredulous statement. “They <i>what?</i> You—oh. Wow. I—okay.” He breathes deep, closes his eyes, opens them. “When do we start drafting plans?”</p><p>It’s brilliant, really, marines preparing for war with an <i>Emperor</i> will mean loosened security everywhere but Marineford. It’ll be a treasure trove of opportunities and really Sabo should be happy about this, and he <i>is</i>, once he’s beat back his flabbergasted awe. But there’s a thread of bone-deep terror stitching through his veins and needles stabbing through his skull, and by now he knows the ache of phantom memories.</p><p>Sabo tries to push back the feeling. It kind of maybe works, a little. Not really. But he can pretend it does.</p><p>Koala’s eyes sparkle. “Plans start in a few hours! Recommend some sleep before then, we’re all gonna need to be at least halfway functioning for it y’know!” She pauses, cocks her head, squints her eyes a little. “And you really do look like shit.”</p><p>Sabo rubs his eyes. Glances at his shabby bed. Wonders how many wrinkles his clothes will gain if he sleeps in them again. Knows no one will care either way. “...Thanks.”</p><p>She beams. “See you then, then! ‘Night Sabby!”</p><p>He half-grimaces. “Don’t <i>call</i> me that.” Koala rocks back on her heels, winks, mock-salutes, and slams the door closed behind her.</p><p>Sabo sighs.</p><p>His pen clanks loud on the stone when he drops it. He glances at his diary. (Coded three times over, his own code, hopefully unable to be cracked. Only really trivial things or time-limited things just in case. Names and locations omitted. Never brought outside Baltigo. He shouldn’t really be keeping a diary at all.)</p><p>Sighs again. Closes it. Tucks it under the mattress, collapses onto the rough blankets, and tries to ignore the pricks of panic up his spine.</p><p>(The marines captured Fire Fist Ace!)</p><p>-</p><p>Sabo wakes to the sound of Baltigo in a buzz—or, more of a buzz than usual. It’s always a buzz; full of loud children and laughing men and whispered secrets and the <i>purupurupuru</i> of a hundred den-den mushi calls. It’s always a buzz, but now it’s a clamor.</p><p>In the half second between sleep and lucidity he wonders why. And then needles stab though his skull and a headache throbs against his temples and he remembers <i>Ace</i> and <i>marines</i> and <i>war</i>.</p><p>This easily startles him from sleep and he jolts right out of bed, looses his footing on <i>something</i>, and thunks face first on the hard stone floor. That just isn’t fair.</p><p>He lies there a moment.</p><p>Someone knocks on the door.</p><p>“I’m coming! Definitely! Soon! Just uh...” Sabo scrambles back to his feet. Glances in the mirror. Oh <i>gross</i>. There’s drool all over his face and his nose is bleeding and he can’t go out like this. He still has <i>something</i> of a reputation to maintain. Even if half of Baltigo’s staff have seen him worse. “One minute!”</p><p>They’ve finally managed to rig up a plumbing system to the underground reservoirs and now there are actual sinks. It’s a miracle. So Sabo washes out a rag, scrubs his face, smooths out his clothes just enough so that it almost doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed, and is out the door.</p><p>As suspected, it’s a riot. There are people running down the hallways and hoards of loose paper, bounty posters half-nailed to the walls and it’s much too loud for this hour of morning. Dawn is only just barely bleeding it’s red-gold flames from the sky and dew still glistens bright on the stone sills of Baltigo’s glass-less windows. The morning sun hits against the rock desert in a way that illuminates every stone from ivory to platinum.</p><p>Sabo breathes deep. Sand and salt and old paper.</p><p>Closes his eyes, opens them, begins his way to the planning room. He tries to ignore the noise and focus, but every stone-carved hall echoes with <i>Ace</i> and <i>Whitebeard</i> and <i>execution</i> and it’s kind of really distracting.</p><p>He’s the last one there. They’re splattered around the table—Dragon sitting straight at one end, Koala tipping back in a chair, Terry pouring over a stack of intelligence reports, and a whole host of den-den mushi rung up over the surface. (Various stations in the grand line, each blue, another few for plants in the underworld and infrastructure.)</p><p>“Yo,” he greets, clicking the door shut behind him.</p><p>Koala grins, waving him over, “You’re finally here! Only a few minutes late!” She slides a thin stack of reports over. He squints, slipping easily into the chair beside her.</p><p>From then it’s discussions of what will be accessible during the pocket of marine-vulnerability, which things to prioritize, where, who will be staffing the operations, and the impacts of such. Sabo contributes to the conversation, tries to push out his headache, but there comes a point where he just <i>can’t</i>.</p><p>They’re talking about the impact the upcoming war might have on Whitebeard territories. Whitebeard won’t be able to get out of this unscathed, yes, he’s an Emperor, but he’ll be facing the marine’s strongest, and his crew is strong but they <i>will</i> be weakened by that kind of battle. And that’s assuming they succeed. The Revolutionary Army knows better than anyone not to underestimate the World Government.</p><p>So they’re talking about the possibility that Whitebeard loses and Ace dies and Sabo <i>can’t</i>. There are locusts beneath his skin and a headache throbbing against his skull and a <i>tick-tick-tick</i> down his spine, a countdown, a warning, and he needs to <i>go</i>.</p><p>“I can carry a black bag operation in Marineford,” he blurts, off topic, and the room blows up with noise.</p><p>“What!? Sabo!” Koala exclaims, somewhere between incredulous and angry and worried, “That’s the <i>marine headquarters</i> during <i>wartime!</i> All the admirals are going to be there! The vice admirals—<i>Garp!</i>” Sabo grimaces.</p><p>Across the den-den mushi come similar protests. And it <i>is</i> dangerous but…</p><p>Dragon raises a hand, makes a silence motion. The rooms quiets.</p><p>“Sabo,” he says, slowly, gravely, “you realize that’s a very...precarious position to take. If you were found the odds of you getting out are essentially null, and if you were captured...”</p><p>Imprisonment, torture, execution. Sabo is confident he wouldn’t break, wouldn’t give up the information in his head, but—well.</p><p>“Yes,” he says, dipping his head. “But we may never get an opportunity like this again! My bounty poster thus far has a blurry picture and is under an alias, and at a time like this there’s no way the marines will be keeping up their normal standards for background checks! Details will be lost in the flurry and I’m experienced in espionage—I have have the ability to remain inconspicuous and unseen even in a quick job. It’ll be in and out, see?”</p><p>Dragon holds his stare, black on black, and he can feel fire in his veins and hear blood in his ears and he doesn't back down.</p><p>Dragon sighs.</p><p>“Only if you tell me the other reason later,” Dragon says, and Sabo’s heart leaps. He can’t help the grin that devours his face. He makes a high offended noise, more for show than anything else, and he doesn't deny it.</p><p>Koala’s whole face tightens. “Sabo,” she says, pauses, and then, “<i>Sabo</i>.” Like she doesn't know whether to be angry or worried.</p><p><i>Tell you later</i>, he mouths, because once Koala’s set on something she’s like a bloodhound and it’s useless to try and put her off-trail. Koala narrows her eyes suspiciously. He holds her gaze. Grins. “Don’t worry,” he beams, “I won’t be reckless!”</p><p>She bristles. “This whole thing is reckless!”</p><p>“I’ll be careful!”</p><p>“You’d better!”</p><p>“I will!”</p><p>A beat.</p><p>“I know better than to compromise myself too badly,” he mutters, tipping his hat, “Full deal okay? Uncomfortable disguises and all.”</p><p>Koala frowns. Closes her eyes, tips back her chair, opens them, glares at him. “We’ll cobble you the best damn background we’ve ever made.”</p><p>Sabo beams.</p><p>-</p><p>The Revolutionary Army doesn’t outsource it’s cobblers. The underground can be trusted to keep secrets, but only for so long, and only for some matters. So they make due with their own process of creating fake identities, they plant people in the places they need to be, forge passports and documentation, jobs, entire <i>lives</i>.</p><p>This is how Revolutionary Chief of Staff Sabo becomes recently promoted Marine Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Henry Huckman.</p><p>Henry Huckman is twenty with straight black hair that’s cut short and choppy. He has deep black eyes and a pale complexion that speaks of distantly noble heritage. He joined the marines at age eighteen and was not particularly impressive. He was not lazy, but he is no prodigy. In normal circumstances, he would not be in Marineford.</p><p>These aren’t normal circumstances, of course. Henry Huckman doesn’t exist but Marineford is desperate for competent men and things are lost in the flurry. This is what Sabo reminds himself when he steps into Marineford.</p><p>It’s...big. Sabo’s seen the fort through pictures and recordings but it’s so much <i>larger</i> in person, taller than the giants, the marine symbol sits high and heavy above his head. His marine uniform is suffocating. It sticks to his skin—sticky with sweat, itchy with salt, irritating, infuriating. </p><p>(It’s temporary. It won’t be long. He doesn’t have to wear this damned uniform for long. Get in <i>character</i>, he can’t act suspicious. Not here, not now, not when so much is hanging on this.)</p><p>A week until the execution.</p><p>Day’s count down on a timer. <i>Tick tick tick</i> down his spine, and he only had so much time to pick locks and memorize papers. It’s good information, valuable information, even a fraction of it would make to whole thing worth it. Supply ship schedules, arms dealing, Cipher Pole member identities and profiles, it’s <i>ridiculously</i> good, what he’s getting. And every time he steps down a hall with his footsteps light and silent it sends a thrill through his stomach. And—</p><p>And Sabo isn’t satisfied.</p><p><i>Tick tick tick</i>, goes the clock in his mind, and he’s thinking of the upcoming execution.</p><p>On his skin the uniform burns. His bangs stick uncomfortably over his eyes, itchy and hot. The corridor is empty. The windows are closed. It smells like salt and soap and luxury foods. And there’s still a <i>tick tick tick</i> through his bones, a headache against his skull, and—</p><p>And his steps are too loud and they aren’t alone. And he isn’t supposed to be here. Isn’t supposed to be here at <i>all</i>.</p><p><i>Fuck</i>, he thinks, and plasters and confused expression. Looks at the halls like he hasn’t memorized the layout. He sighs lowly, not loud, small and quiet and resigned with an edge of distress. Pauses, looks out the window, furrows his brows.</p><p>Turns around.</p><p><i>Fuck</i>, he thinks, again, and wants to curse out loud but that’s a dead give away and if he has <i>any</i> hope of salvaging this—but <i>shit</i> that’s <i>Garp the Fist</i>. Hero of the marines, a household name from the Blues to the Grand Line, and there isn’t a soul who doesn't know his feats. This isn’t a fight Sabo has chance of winning.</p><p>He braces himself, straightens up, makes his eyes go wide (it isn’t very hard,) and doesn’t run even if every instinct screams to sprint.</p><p>“S-S-Sir!” Sabo says, high pitched and reverent and full of that terrible hero-worship marines are always bound in.</p><p>Garp squints at him. Suspiciously. Fuck.</p><p>Sabo shifts, foot-to-foot, not enough to look suspicious but enough to look uncomfortable. “...Sir?” He asks. “U-um! I-I didn't know this was—I’m a little lost... Ah...”</p><p>“Brat,” Garp the Hero says, slowly, and he’s looking at Sabo like he’s a puzzle piece, or a long-lost son, or an undercover revolutionary. That can’t be good. “Brat!” He says, louder this time, more sure, and there’s definitely recognition on his face. And Sabo’s heart lunges into his throat.</p><p>“Sir?” He asks, barely able to breath, headache pounding hard against his skull, and it isn’t supposed to go like this, the World Nobles have yet to fall as he still has reports to give and Ace—“Sir do you need something from me?”</p><p>Garp scoffs, carelessly waving him along, “Come on brat.”</p><p>And—well. There isn’t really anything Sabo can do <i>but</i> follow. His steps sound loud and abrasive clicking on the marble. His heart loud in his ears. What got him caught? They have a picture of him? But they <i>don’t</i>—but he’s also never met Garp.</p><p>The Marine Hero’s office is less luxurious than he thought it’d be. There large couches one one side sat around a coffee table, a desk of paperwork on the far-end. It’s comfortable.</p><p>Garp sighs, long and heavy, like a branch supporting too much weight. “Brat,” he says, sinking into one of the couches, gesturing for Sabo to follow, “I know why you’re here, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”</p><p>Sabo shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Oh?” He says, slow and careful, “What would that be?”</p><p>“Brat I’m not stupid,” the Vice Admiral says, “It’s obvious. But some things have to be sacrificed for the greater good, and maybe the marines aren’t always right but order must be maintained. And some things are just inevitable.”</p><p>Anger bubbles beneath his skin. Garp can’t be serious—<i>this</i> talk, to <i>him?</i> <i>Now?</i> “You’re a fool,” he spits, because obviously the jig is up.</p><p>Garp grimaces. “Look,” he says, “I’m not going to tell you no. I don’t have the right and it wouldn’t work besides, never has with you trouble making brats, but I’m telling you to think about it.”</p><p>And that’s—not quite right. It’s close enough but it doesn’t sync the details. Somewhere along the way they started speaking two different conversations. “The...” Sabo pauses, there’s a headache against his skull and blood rushing in his ears and he knows what they’re talking about, but he doesn't at all—and when he speaks it’s a question, “...revolutionary thing?”</p><p>The Vice Admiral blinks. “Oh,” he says, “that’s what you do now?” And then, “No! The Ace thing!”</p><p>“The...Ace thing,” Sabo says, slowly, tasting the words, mind whirling, headache doubling over itself. And there’s a <i>tick tick tick</i> till the execution and a dread down his spine and maybe this is what he’s been looking for.</p><p>Garp frowns, leans forward, squints his eyes. “Brat,” he says, tone careful, “what are you here for?”</p><p>Sabo can say he’s here on revolutionary business—it’ll be a lie wrapped in truth, honest in every way that doesn’t matter, and it’s tempting. But this isn’t the time for that—that isn’t what he came for.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he mutters, maybe a bit quieter than intended. And then, “I want to know,” and he didn’t mean to say that.</p><p>A moment, silence, thick walls drowning out any distant noise. Sabo can hear clearly the blood in his veins and the beat of his heart, his breaths coming maybe a bit too uneven.</p><p>“Oh,” Garp eventually says, and Sabo thinks he might not be the only one who’s lost here. “Brat, sit down, what don’t you remember?”</p><p>Sabo hesitates a moment, slips onto the opposing couch, opens his mouth, closes it, tries to swallow down a familiar kind of bitterness.</p><p>“What <i>do</i> I remember?” A moment, and he can’t hold it back anymore—“Do you—did you know me?” But he doesn’t need to wait because Garp’s face is answer enough. “Who was I?” He bursts, “Who was Ace? Why am I here? What can you tell me—and I <i>know</i> you can tell me, so—”</p><p>Garp holds a hand up. “Yes,” he says, tiredly, “I can tell you.” A pause, “You three—”</p><p>“—Three?” Sabo interrupts, because he really can’t help it.</p><p>“You and Ace and Luffy,” Garp answers, “You stupid brothers—”</p><p>“<i>Brothers!?</i>” Sabo squawks, and it’s less strange than it should be, and he has <i>brothers</i>. Ace and Luffy and jungle tumbles and sunshine smiles and—</p><p>Ace’s execution is in three days.</p><p><i>Tick tick tick</i> through his bones and panic though his veins, pulsing to the beat of his heart, and his head aches with phantom memories.</p><p>“Yeah,”Garp says, getting up and lumbering to the desk, ruffling around in the papers. “Brothers.” And when he comes back he pushes a photo catalog into Sabo’s hands. It’s worn but well-cared for, leather bound and smells like salt and earth. And it’s only when he tries to flip a page that he realizes his hands are clammy and shaking.</p><p>There’s a library of memories here. Goa—Ace, Luffy, a jungle and a bar and a den of bandits. And then—and then something slides into place and a cascade of puzzle pieces falling onto each other, fitting into each other. Clicking and clanking till they’ve become a whole symphony of forgotten things. It’s all only half there but it’s enough, it’s what matters. Three cups and sunshine smiles, trash-yard treasures and—</p><p>—And he thinks of his brother and wants to die.</p><p>Ace is Garp’s grandson and Ace is going to be <i>executed in three days</i>.</p><p>“Shitty Gramps,” he says, slow, with a dangerous kind of edge that belongs entirely to Sabo the trash-heap child who carved his heart in two and gave it away, “Are you planning to just—just,” he stumbles over the words, “just let Ace <i>die?</i>”</p><p>And he doesn’t need an answer because it’s written plain and blatant on Garp’s face.</p><p>-</p><p>Garp is a good marine. He lives for his duty and will die for his duty and now it sits bitter on his tongue and heavy on his shoulders. His marine coat spells <i>Justice</i>, bold and blaring, but if he carries it high and sticks to the letter than he will have four dead kids and four dead men—<i>good</i> men.</p><p>Sabo’s words cut through his skin, through his flesh, down to the bone. He visited Ace and they both knew what he would do, but Ace didn’t talk about it, didn’t plead, and Garp is grateful for that. But Sabo isn’t Ace.</p><p>“Yes,” he admits, and his voice doesn't shake because he’s Garp the Fist, the Marine Hero, and he’s used to bearing burdens.</p><p>Sabo’s fist hits the table with an audible crack, and between them the wood splinters. He’s glaring, fury of a whole ocean in his eyes, and Garp doesn't flinch but he wants to.</p><p>“You’re really just—of course you would. You’re a <i>fool!</i> Do you even know what you’re fighting for? <i>Hero?</i>” And he spits the world like it’s a mockery, and maybe it is. “You’d kill Ace for—for <i>what?</i> I thought it was suspicious, of <i>course</i> it was suspicious, they’d never war with Whitebeard just for Ace. No, no this has to do with <i>Rodger</i> doesn’t it!”</p><p>And Garp can’t really lie—Sabo’s always been the wittiest of his grandsons, the sharpest, the most perceptive, but that doesn't really matter. Garp wouldn’t lie even if he could.</p><p>“Yes,” he says, voice heavy, because he tried so <i>hard</i> to bury Ace’s heritage beneath the waves. Sure Sengoku’s always had an inkling, but he’s also always turned a blind eye. But when the Pirate King’s son is delivered alive in seastone—well. “But,” he says, before Sabo can destroy his couches, too, “if you took politics out of it he’d be executed anyway.”</p><p>“If you took <i>politics</i> out of it Ace wouldn’t be labeled a pirate at all!”</p><p>“He’s a <i>criminal!</i>” Garp says, just below a roar, but Sabo doesn't back down. <i>Like Dragon</i>, he thinks, <i>like all of them</i>. Never knowing where to back down, which choices to take, those <i>stupid</i> kids of his. To goddamn stubborn for their own good.</p><p>“<i>So?</i>” Sabo asks, voice dripping with venom, “I’m a criminal! Dragon is a criminal! <i>Luffy</i> is a criminal! Are you going to kill <i>us</i> too?”</p><p>These <i>stupid</i> kids of his.</p><p>Garp wants to say no, wants to say yes, wants to take one or the other. And he knows this, <i>knows</i> that if he holds true to his duty Sabo will be half dead by tomorrow morning. If he holds true to his duty he’ll have killed his grandson’s brother and his son’s son—(because Dragon’s always had a penchant for lost and ragged things, always patched them up and put them together and called them his.)</p><p>And if Garp holds true to his duty then he’ll watch as his grandson is executed, will see the axe fall on his neck, see the blood on the platform. Will sit there beside him and do nothing. Garp held Ace when he was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, watched him grow and cry and become a brother, saw him in Impel Down, bloody and beaten. <i>Kill me</i>, Ace said, like that’d do any good. And in three days—</p><p>(<i>Protect my son</i>, said Roger. <i>Protect my son</i>, said Rouge.)</p><p>—And Garp doesn’t answer.</p><p>“Please,” Sabo says, palpable hopelessness in the words, and there are tears brimming up in Sabo’s eyes—of frustration, maybe—and he’s made his grandson cry. “<i>Please</i>.”</p><p>(<i>Kill me</i>, said Ace. <i>Protect my son</i>, said Roger. <i>Please</i>, said Sabo.)</p><p>(<i>Carry your duty</i>, said Sengoku.)</p><p>Sengoku has always been a compassionate man but he says <i>carry your duty</i>, and his duty means the killing of good men. Garp takes orders from Sengoku because Senny is his good friend and a man of justice, but can this be called justice? Half his kids are pirates and half of them are revolutionaries, and they’re all kind to their core, and can any of this be called justice?</p><p>It’s duty, and the marines are more good than bad, and all systems have flaws. And if his kids had just <i>lived with it</i>, if they hadn’t been so stupid and driven, hadn’t followed their fantasies then—</p><p>Then Ace would still have Rodger’s blood, and it doesn't matter besides, because none of his kids would ever be content in the marines, and he <i>knows</i> that.</p><p>“<i>Please</i>,” chokes his grandson, a criminal and a revolutionary and caring to his core. And—</p><p>“What could I even do?” He asks, and he means the questions less rhetorically than he should.</p><p>Sabo peers up, still teary. “What <i>couldn’t</i> you do!?” He bursts. “With your resources…! You could secure escape routes, just...maybe not sneak him off, but! You could smuggle in pirates, you could just—fucking—throw him across Marineford—” Sabo looks like he’s going to tear out his hair, and he looks Garp straight in the eyes and says, “you could save <i>him!</i>” And—</p><p>Something breaks, slides out of place, a curtain pulled to the side, and something else takes its seat.</p><p><i>Carry your duty</i>, said Sengoku, and the marines are better than chaos and anarchy, but his son went and made an alternative. Revolution won’t be pretty when it happens, but if they do it right, if <i>he</i> does it right, then it’ll be better than a world where his duty is first to the marines and second to the people.</p><p><i>Carry your duty</i>, said Sengoku, but his duty is first to justice and this isn’t it.</p><p>“Fine,” Garp grumbles.</p><p>Sabo jerks up his head, eyes flying wide. “What? You—”</p><p>“Yes, shitty brat! I’ll do it! Justice for the people, whatever,” Garp says, louder this time, more sure. And Sabo looks at him with kindling hope and starts to grin. Garp sighs, loudly. “Troublesome brats...roping me into all your dastardly activities. Well? You got a plan?”</p><p>Sabo sniffles a little, wiping his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. He nods vigorously, baring his teeth into a sharp grin that’ll probably signify marine terror for years to come. “Of <i>course</i>.”</p><p>-</p><p>“Hello?” Sounds a cheerful voice over the line. “Is this..ah, what’s the name? Sorry the marines are kind of crowd sourcing stores to call and some regular of yours—Benny Bucket? I can’t quite remember his name, ah, that's besides the point though. He said you’ll be in stock? Marineford’s really overloaded right now I’m sure you know. Anyway—is this Bird’s Eye bakery?”</p><p>It’s kind of a shock that Aloe really isn’t prepared for to pick up the den-den mushi and hear the voice of their <i>Chief of Staff</i> on the other end. (Shouldn’t he be in headquarters?) But no, the call is coming straight from Marineford, what the <i>fuck</i>. Whatever this call is about there’s no way it’s in her usual clearance. No way at all. A call from their Chief should usually be directed to a more confidential base, if not reported in person.</p><p>Never her average recruitment and smuggling center.</p><p>But she’s been taught codes for this—she can handle this, not everything can be uniform. If the Chief contacted here then it must be his best option. She grabs a pen, a notebook, ready to transcript the dialogue.</p><p>It’s only testament to her training that Aloe’s able to answer with the even, overly-cheerful voice of typical customer service.</p><p>“Of course! Benny’s one of our favorite regulars! This is Bird’s Eye Bakery, what may we assist you with?”</p><p>
  <i>Code words received and registered, report?</i>
</p><p>“I’m here to place an order—quick one at that. Are you in stock with the basics? Staples, I mean.”</p><p>
  <i>This is time-sensitive. What’s your code proficiency?</i>
</p><p>“We are! We are in stock with all basic flours. May we place your order?”</p><p>
  <i>Yes, basic. Continue.</i>
</p><p>“Oh thank god! So many places are out! Two orders, actually. All the flour you have, any type. We’re low, as mentioned.”</p><p>
  <i>First order is irrelevant, second is code.</i>
</p><p>“No problem! We always have stock to spare for our marines! Where should it be delivered?”</p><p>
  <i>Understood, locations?</i>
</p><p>“Ah, first one can just go through normal delivery routes to Marineford. Just bring it to port and the marines’ll take care of it! Second one though, just chocolate donuts please, dark. Fresh baked, if you can. We’ll pick it up on Sabaody. Grove 58.” He pauses. <i>Covert ship, best gear if possible, Sabaody, Grove 58</i>. “We have a special order from Vice-Admiral Garp.”</p><p>It’s all Aloe can do not to choke then and there. Because first and foremost this is a recruitment center and she knows recruitment code like the skin of her palm—but the Chief of Staff just said <i>Vice-Admiral Garp</i> and that’s—that’s something.</p><p>“Oh!” She exclaims, like a normal civilian. “Of course! Anything! What time would you liked it picked up?”</p><p>
  <i>Time?</i>
</p><p>“Three in the afternoon, tomorrow. I may run a bit late, though. Marineford is very busy. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”</p><p>
  <i>Three days. Operation running late. Arrive early.</i>
</p><p>“Not at all! Is there anything else I can add to your order?”</p><p>
  <i>Additional?</i>
</p><p>“That’s all for now. Thank you for your trouble! May the wind blow your way!”</p><p><i>Nothing. Pack up quick and get out</i>.</p><p>The den-den mushi falls silent with a <i>katcha</i>.</p><p>Aloe doesn't curse but she wants to. It’s—expected, really. The call was straight from Marineford and there’s a reason most marine plants turn in information physically. Marine den-den mushi are monitored, calls kept track of, and obviously the Chief decided that the call itself was a necessary risk, but the Chief is obviously planning something, and whenever that happens…well. This location might not be safe.</p><p>She clicks her tongue, wraps up the transcript and stuffs it in her front pocket. She’ll start packing up tonight, and she’ll keep the front of a store until Fire Fist’s execution. By the time the battle’s hit she’ll be out with anything valuable and back into the revolutionary fold.</p><p>Aloe breathes in, breathes out. Thrill shoots through her veins. She picks up the snail, dials another number.</p><p>“Hello?” She asks, voice perfectly pleasant. Because she’d be a fools to simply relay this kind of information over den-den mushi from a station as potentially compromised as hers. “Is this Sinker? You forgot to pick up your order, do you still want them? This is the Bird’s Eye Bakery.” A pause. “Yeah, we still have it waiting, but we’re closing soon, so come quick.”</p><p>-</p><p>Ace looks at the battlefield with nausea in his throat and bile on his tongue. Pops came all the way here, everyone came, his stupid <i>brother</i> came, and they’re going to die. People swarm like ants below him, legions of color and oceans of white, and he thinks that after this the water might run red. There are goddamn robots on the battlefield, are Warlords and Admirals—his family is viciously outnumbered if not terribly outgunned, and it isn’t supposed to be like this.</p><p>What’s the point in a family if they die for him? What’s the point in any of it if he gets them killed? There’s fire and brimstone beneath Ace’s skin but it can’t get <i>out</i>, too sleepy, bogged down by seastone shackles. People aren’t supposed to die for him, even if he’s happy they love him, he doesn't want them to <i>die</i>—</p><p>Garp really should have killed him. Ace <i>told</i> him that it’d be for the best but <i>nooo, the powers are already moving, Ace, you can’t do anything now, Ace</i>. Which is total fucking bullshit and now his family is <i>dying</i> and—</p><p>The ground groans, whole earth shaking, rattles down to its bones. A beat, a moment, a rumble of earth, and the whole world tilts. The ocean shatters likes split glass, fractures into pieces. And the wood splinters for one half-second, but the platform rights itself, if only barely.</p><p>The marines are bursting with noise, shouts and yells and barking orders, eyes on the ground, on the waves, and if he weren’t bound in seastone it would be the perfect time to escape. Ace glances to his side, glances to his grandfather, because somehow despite everything Garp is <i>still</i> a comfort, and he’s—</p><p>He’s <i>grinning</i>, wide and conspiratorial, swinging to his feet on the platform, and he peers straight at Ace with a look that says <i>watch this</i>.</p><p>Garp draws back his fist in one sharp movement—and brings it down.</p><p>And the world tilts second time.</p><p>The scaffolding crumples like weak foil, supports snapping, bolts breaking to the tune of cracking rock and splintering wood. And before the world has even stopped spinning, colors stopped blurring together, Garp’s scooped him up like he’s still a child. Ace jerks his head up, pulse beating loud in his ears, heart in his throat, and he doesn't know what’s happening anymore.</p><p>“Gramps?” he asks, quiet, unsure in a way he hates, but it’s only half a question because it’s kind of obvious isn’t it? Even though Garp’s <i>always</i> been the one to go <i>duty this</i> and <i>marines that</i>, and <i>I have no sympathy for criminals</i>, he’s just…</p><p>Garp grins down, brings a den-den mushi out of a pocket, clears his throat. “This might be kind of awkward timing,” he says, voice strung too cheerful, echoing all over the now-silent battlefield, “but consider this my formal resignation.” And just—just fucking <i>throws</i> Ace.</p><p>“<i>GARP!</i>” Booms the fleet-admirals voice, loud and angry and tinged with hurt. Ace can only just barely make it out because <i>what the hell</i>. His stomach's been left on the execution platform and the wind is in his ears and the whole world’s a blur, <i>up-up-up away from the ground</i>. “Garp do you have <i>any idea</i> what you—”</p><p>“Of course, Senny!” Comes his grandfather’s voice, booming above the wind, above the waves. “Marine for the people, no? Well these are my people, and I’m done with killing them.”</p><p><i>Down-down-down</i>, Ace is <i>plummeting</i> and he’s <i>still</i> in seastone what the <i>fuck</i>—</p><p>“They’re <i>pirates</i>—”</p><p>“Only because we <i>made</i> them pirates!”</p><p>The Fleet Admiral makes a high noise of pure frustrated anger that Ace really really relates to. “FUCK YOU, GARP!”</p><p>“YOU TOO!” Garp cheerfully responds, and that’s followed by a series of crashes and rumbles and yells that mix together into a whole mess that Ace really can’t pay attention to.</p><p>Like, actually can’t pay attention to, because for all that Garp just threw him away from the execution stand, he’s now plummeting to the hard-ice ground, into a crowd of bloodshed, and still has seastone on. <i>Down-down-down</i> and the ground’s coming up like the sky, whole world spinning, and—</p><p>And someone catches him. They’re clothed in marine-white, with strong arms that hold him easily and a frame that doesn’t falter. And that’s just his luck isn’t it? Get hurled from the execution stand straight into a marine. Except—</p><p>Except the marine isn’t a marine at all. He’s grinning down at Ace, a smile that stretches eye-to-eye, and it isn’t a nice smile. It’s delighted and manic and tinged with something crazy and reckless and Ace <i>knows</i> that smile. Knows it like he knows the shape of this not-marine’s face, knows it like the skin of his palm; deep, ingrained, and instinctual.</p><p>The hair is all wrong, too straight, not blonde, but— “Sabo?” He asks, low and desperate, and Sabo grins wider.</p><p>“Who else?” Sabo—<i>Sabo</i>, that’s <i>Sabo</i> what the <i>fuck</i>—sings, skipping towards the water, towards the pirates, and jostling Ace to get at his handcuffs. There’s a brief scuffle, a scowl, a yelp of pain from an actual marine, and they pause just long enough for Sabo to break Ace’s handcuff’s with his <i>bare hands</i>. What the <i>fuck</i>. Obviously Ace knows about armament Haki, he’s seen people crush boulders, snap metal, but that was <i>seastone</i>.</p><p>Where did Sabo learn <i>that?</i></p><p>(Where has Sabo <i>been?</i>)</p><p>The instant he’s out of his cuffs Sabo drops him like a sack of rocks, abruptly veering to the side. Ace follows the movement, tracking their course. They’re heading straight towards Luffy—Luffy that <i>idiot</i>. His little brother is dashing towards them, not a care for the battle, and there’s a vice admiral chasing after him and Luffy doesn't even know <i>Haki</i> yet.</p><p>Flames fan out, cracking, dancing, and Ace crashes into the Vice Admiral with all the vicious fury of Whitebeard's Second Division Commander. The marine crumples.</p><p>“Luffy!” He calls, skidding to a halt beside him.</p><p>Luffy looks like he’s going to cry—does, actually, because it’s Luffy. But they’re still in a battlefield and he’s quick to wipe his tears. “Ace!”</p><p>Ace smiles. “Yep! And look who I’ve got—”</p><p>But Sabo beats him to it when he says, “Luffy,” quiet and soft, and Luffy jerks his head around, wide eyes.</p><p>“Sa—”</p><p>Sabo shakes his head quickly, brings a finger to his lips. “Yeah. I’ll explain later but—” Sabo grimaces, kicks down a marine, “—me being here is a secret okay? <i>Big</i> secret, And we really need to hurry. Later, okay?”</p><p>“You <i>better</i>,” Ace bites, half play, half genuine, and he isn’t <i>really</i> angry, but he’s confused and maybe just a little hurt. Because it’s been a <i>decade</i>, and Sabo decides to show up at his <i>execution?</i></p><p>“Sure,” Sabo agrees, knocking down another marine, “but we <i>really</i> need to go!”</p><p>So they go—Flames and rubber and Haki that’s better than it really has any right to be. They’re a three-pointed maelstrom, chaos made manifest, and Sabo inks back into their formation like he never left.</p><p>(He left, he left for a decade, and Ace still doesn't know <i>why</i>.)</p><p>-</p><p>When all’s said and done, it’s like this: the Whitebeards escape but not without losses. Whitebeard is alive, but it’s obvious now more than ever that he’s old and sick and dying. It’s not the end of an era, but it’s close. It isn’t really a victory, but it isn’t a loss, and that’s the best anyone could have hoped for.</p><p>It’s like this: Celebrations have ended, initial euphoria over. There aren’t leftovers, because there wasn’t enough to eat in the beginning. The loud boasting and joyous singing has tapered down to a low murmur. Quiet whispers of <i>I love you</i> and <i>I’m glad you didn’t die</i> and <i>I think we should retire</i> waft across the deck, are spoken in tucked-away corners, people relaxing in their own blankets of warmth. A million things that have always needed to be said, spoken aloud, blooming in the air like promises.</p><p>Sabo breathes in, breathes out. Blood and salt and sawdust.</p><p>Glances to the side. Luffy is sprawled out on the deck, eyes closed, asleep except not really. Not asleep at all. He’s curled up against Ace, who’s sitting against the railing, and they’re clinging onto each other like life itself. Garp sots a little further away, cross-legged and cradling a box of rice crackers. He looks distinctly disgruntled, overbearingly fond.</p><p>And Sabo—</p><p>Sabo doesn’t know what to say. <i>Hey Ace, sorry I forgot you. Yeah no, literally forgot you.</i> How does he do any of it? Just join in like no time has passed at all? Would that be okay—and yeah that’s pretty stupid, of course it’d be okay. Probably. Luffy won’t care, not in the slightest—but <i>Ace?</i> Sabo’s surprised he hasn’t been punched yet. Ace is still waiting on answers, and there are a million things Sabo needs to say, but he doesn't know <i>how</i>.</p><p>Sabo still feels like he’s walking on the edge of a cliff, a tightrope. There’s still a restlessness beneath his skin, pricking and dancing and throwing him off-balance, like anger but less burning and more freezing. And he had thought this feeling would leave, would fall away once Ace became safe but—but it hasn’t.</p><p>
  <i>(Like the feeling when he’s dodged a bullet that got a little too close, or when he pulls Koala away from a live mine, or when his brother almost dies.)</i>
</p><p>“Sabo-boooy!” Ivankov calls, right beside him.</p><p>Sabo startles, twists around, rocks back on his heels like he he wasn’t caught off guard, leans his back on the raining, tips his hat and smiles wide. “Iva,” Sabo greets, voice pleasant, kind of surprised Ivankov hadn’t come <i>sooner</i>.</p><p>“Vhat vere vou doing zere?” Iva asks, not quite accusatory, but they both know the Revolution isn’t ready to be pulled into direct confrontation with marines. And yeah, Sabo was under a disguise, but he was still <i>there</i>.</p><p>Sabo glances at Ace, just for a moment, but Iva catches it anyway because he isn’t stupid no matter how he appears. “Aw,” Sabo says, pulling on a pout, “can’t save my own brother on his big day?”</p><p>A beat.</p><p>Ivankov’s eyes blow wide, “<i>VHAT!?</i>”</p><p>“Ah, y’know,” Sabo says causally, “my brothers.”</p><p>“VOUR <i>BROTHERS!?</i> VOU—vou got vour memories back!?”</p><p>Sabo hums, jerks his head into a nod. “Yeah,” he says, and he isn’t looking at Iva, he’s looking at Ace. “Three days ago.”</p><p>“You what,” Ace says, voice flat, maybe a tone of disbelief, but there’s also a creeping realization on his face. And Sabo still doesn't know what to do.</p><p>“Well,” says Sabo, and he wants to say he forgot like it’s a joke, like it’s unimportant, like it’s a lie. Like there was never any possibility that he could’ve woken up one day and realized his brother was dead and he wasn’t there. “Y’know.”</p><p>“Oh,” says Ace.</p><p>A beat.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Well get over here,” Ace motions impatiently. And Sabo’s barely had time to even take a step before Luffy’s arms snake around his torso and he smacks face first into their two-person pile. And Ace, that bastard, <i>laughs</i>.</p><p>“Oh yeah?” He asks, straight into Ace’s foot. “Well if that's how it’s gonna be.” And he kicks up his legs and boots right at Ace’s face.</p><p>Ace yelps. “Hey hey hey! Wait—Sabo—!”</p><p>But Ace goes down, straight onto the deck, and Sabo grins sharp and victorious, and sits right on him. Luffy laughs, and jumps on both of them and—well.</p><p>From there it’s a typical tumble.</p><p>“Hey,” Sabo says, kind of muffled, and Ace’s elbow digs harder into his back. And he thinks he might have found the words he’s been looking for. He isn’t one for words, not for anything but lies, not one for honesty, but there’s still that buzz beneath his bones that says <i>Ace could have died</i> and— “Hey I’m pretty glad you’re alive.”</p><p>Ace freezes and Luffy’s arms somehow extend even further around them all. “Obviously!” Luffy laughs.</p><p>“No,” says Sabo, and manages to shove his way to somewhere close to the top of the pile. “No I mean I’m like, really happy you idiots aren’t dead, and that I found you. And you’re both gonna worry me sick.”</p><p>Ace shifts uncomfortably. Emotionally stunted as ever.</p><p>A beat. Ace coughs.</p><p>“Uh,” he says, “yeah. You too.”</p><p>“Aww,” Sabo coos, because lord forbid he ever let an honest moment like this linger. “Thanks, you sap.”</p><p>(He means it.)</p><p>Ace goes red to his ears. “What!? You started it!”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sabo agrees, “that’s the point!”</p><p>Ace makes a series of faces, eventually settling on a glaringly fake scowl. “Whatever,” he says. A moment, his brows furrow, face scrunching up in confusion. “By the way, Sabo, why’ve I never seen your bounty poster? There’s no way you <i>don’t</i> have one, I mean, that Haki was like, pretty good.”</p><p>Sabo grins. “Better than yours?”</p><p>“Haki?” Luffy asks.</p><p>“Mystery power,” Sabo supplies, and Luffy nods like that makes any sense at all.</p><p>Ace makes a face. “My—sure. But I still have cool fire powers.”</p><p>“Of course,” Sabo says, “almost cool enough to out-cool my Haki.”</p><p>“Hey—” Ace pauses, and then, “hey! Stop changing the subject!”</p><p>“Ugh,” Sabo sighs, “fine. My bounty’s under an alias that’s why.” A moment. “Also it’d <i>totally</i> be more than yours if what I did wasn’t so super-secret.”</p><p>“Oh?” Ace asks, whole face creeping full of delight, “<i>really?</i> Well I guess it’s natural that my <i>little</i> bother’s got a smaller bou—”</p><p>“I’ll have you know,” Sabo says, “that I’m still taller.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make you older!”</p><p>“Well,” he says, “yeah. But I’m still older in spirit.”</p><p>“That’s stupid,” Ace says, wrinkling his nose, pauses. “Can I see your poster?”</p><p>And that’s—no. That’d be a disaster. “No.”</p><p>But apparently something shows on his face. “Oh,” says Ace, and then, with a terrible smile, “<i>oh.</i>”</p><p>“Don’t.”</p><p>“Hey!” Ace says, turning and facing Ivankov, who apparently hasn’t left. “You know Sabo right? So do you—”</p><p>“Of course I do!” Iva answers, pulling a poster out of...somewhere, and that just isn’t fair. Impel Down prisoners aren’t supposed to be up-to-date on bounties.</p><p>Sabo immediately grabs at it, but Ace has still got his whole weight on Sabo’s shoulders, and Luffy’s still wrapped around his legs, and they’ve <i>both</i> got that curious spark, which means neither of them are letting go. Sabo hesitates just a moment between using Haki and letting them see, and in that second Ace’s got his grubby fingers on the paper and—</p><p>“<i>Sabby?</i>” Ace says, voice high with glee. “They put you down as <i>Sabby?</i>”</p><p>Sabo does a harsh, full body shudder. “Definitely not,” he lies, but no one believes him, and he wasn’t really trying to convince them anyway.</p><p>“Sabby?” Luffy asks. “Why that? They called all my crew right!”</p><p>“Excellent point,” Ace says, jutting his chin high, mock-intellectual, “they probably heard his girlfriend ta—”</p><p>“What—what <i>no!</i>” Sabo says, voice maybe a note too high. He shakes his head rapidly, but he’s still kind of pinned onto the deck so he just ends up hitting hit head. “Koala isn’t—”</p><p>“Oh?” Ace says, wriggling his brows. “Koala, huh? You <i>sure</i>—”</p><p>“Yes!” Sabo yelps, kicking up with his legs and landing a nasty blow against Ace’s ribs. “Koala is like...like a sister! Or something. She’s my partner in crime—” Sabo pauses. Oh. Huh. “Uh,” he says, “by the way, do you have a den-den mushi?”</p><p>Ace looks kind of offended. “Of course!”</p><p>“...How about a <i>white</i> den-den mushi?”</p><p>“White den-den mushi?” Luffy asks.</p><p>“For encrypting calls,” Sabo answers automatically, but Luffy still looks confused so, “Makes people not be able to eavesdrop on calls. Mystery mushi.”</p><p>“Um,” says Ace, after a moment, maybe a bit more uncertain, “maybe? Ask Marco.”</p><p>Sabo nods, then startles. “Wait. Wait are we stopping by Sabaody? We really need to be stopping by Sabaody.”</p><p>“They’re lending us a mini-ship to use in the morning,” Garp answers, and Sabo nearly jumps out of his skin. What the hell. Garp’s still there? Sabo forgot him, that shouldn't be possible. Shitty Gramps shouldn't have the ability to be...be <i>inconspicuous</i>.</p><p>“Uh,” Sabo says, and apparently the look on his face is really funny because suddenly everyone’s laughing.</p><p>“Brat,” Garp says fondly, “I handled directing our course. You forgot.”</p><p>“Oh,” Sabo says, and there’s a burn in his ears that means his stupid noble complexion is probably blushing. “Thanks.”</p><p>A beat.</p><p>Ace snickers.</p><p>“Oh shove off,” Sabo mutters, and twists around so Ace’s in a headlock and Luffy’s—well. Luffy’s all around everywhere and laughing too-loud in Sabo’s ear, but that’s okay. Everything’s okay.</p><p>This is past made present; memories made manifest. And Sabo feels like he’s walking on wire, like he’s dodged a bullet, like he’s saved his brother's life, and it’s a wonderful feeling. A relief so deep he could fall into it; a love so ingrained that’s weathered a decade forgotten.</p><p>Luffy’s still laughing, and Ace’s still swearing, and Sabo doesn't think about possibilities. Doesn't think about Ace dead and Luffy dying and memories forgotten, thinks about now, about his brothers laughing and his heart swelling and a feeling he could fly on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>loosely inspired by 'moral justice' by acanaceous and 'tomorrow never happens' by midnightluck both of them are REALLY great and I recommend checking them out. </p><p>Aaa. I’m not completely satisfied with this piece, (unclear themes, unclear character arc/development) plus I don’t usual work with multiple povs, so, well. It’s my first time working with these characters so it’s expected I guess? This oneshot has more cut scenes than usual, and I’m still kind of debating whether I should’ve left in the outsider POV call scene, but, well. I just wanna get this out so.</p><p>In general this was pretty fun to write! (one piece is such a fun world to write around in!) and I hope you enjoyed reading it! I enjoy feedback, so if you enjoyed don’t be shy! As usual, constructive criticism is welcome.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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